


Play It Again, Will You?

by ColoradoCharmieGirl



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017)
Genre: CMBYN Bingo 2021, M/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-29 02:14:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30149184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColoradoCharmieGirl/pseuds/ColoradoCharmieGirl
Summary: And in that beautiful moment, two hearts sang with joy--reunited by chance.
Relationships: Oliver/Elio Perlman
Comments: 11
Kudos: 54
Collections: CMBYN Bingo 2021





	Play It Again, Will You?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for CMBYN Bingo 2021, using the prompt "Reunion"
> 
> Thank you LittleSisterCharlie for your beta-reading and never-ending encouragement. ❤

New York, 1989

Elio checked his watch, he had all of seven minutes to get three blocks to the Viceroy Room before he was supposed to start playing. He couldn’t be late again, not after his boss talked to him last week--the other days it was no problem getting from class to work on time, but Wednesdays were another story. He started to run, hoping to help his time, jostling to his right to avoid a shop door opening as he ran. Just his luck that there was someone there, in that space, in that moment. Elio felt a little like he’d collided with a wall, large and solid, but there was no time for anything but a shouted “Sorry!” as he ran.

\---

Oliver looked at the map and the address given to him by the department chair--if he was reading the thing correctly, it should only be a few more blocks. He was nervous about the meeting--he really needed this job. He was in the final stages of a divorce, with two young sons, and his soon to be ex-wife wanted to move back to the city to stay with her parents, so they could be built-in babysitters while she pursued her career. It made sense to Oliver...there weren’t that many opportunities for her in the small college town they lived in now, but he loved his job there and hated to leave it. He loved his kids more though, hence the meeting with the department chair. They didn’t have any tenure-track positions currently open, but they did have a professor on sabbatical next semester, and an expected retirement at the end of the year. Oliver wanted to get a foot in the door and build a relationship now, hopefully tipping the scale in his favor for something permanent. 

He was still looking at the map when something...some _one..._ collided with him. The impact was surprising and he heard a shouted “Sorry.” The voice dug into his brain and without conscious thought his head snapped up to watch as the man quickly increased the distance between them. Oliver could barely breathe--the dark curls, the height, the build...the voice. His mind was spinning. 

_Certainly not._

_It can’t be._

_You’re seeing things._

\---

Elio pushed the door open with two minutes to spare. He shucked off his coat and placed it and his bag under the piano. He lifted the cover from the keys and shook out his arms and hands--once he started playing, it would be over an hour before his first break, so it was good to start loose and relaxed. 

Johnny called out from behind the bar, “Cutting it close today Elio, aren’t you?” 

“It’s Wednesday, Johnny...it’s to be expected. Anything special going on tonight? Birthdays, anniversaries?”

“Nothing as far as I know.”

He looked over the supper-club crowd. The Viceroy Room was a throw-back to the rat-pack era--a place to meet up, relax, enjoy the ambiance, and still be able to have a private conversation in the high-walled booths. So far they had a decent number of people, but not crowded, not yet anyway. It was early yet, though, just people stopping in for drinks after work. Eventually they’d get a dinner crowd, but for now, he would just play slower standards, maybe work in one or two of his own compositions, see what he could get away with. He knew he was the human version of piped-in music, but he was grateful for the gig, and that it was generally flexible around school. And truth be told, he was just thrilled to support himself playing the piano, and that he didn't have to wait tables like so many of the other Julliard grad students. He started in with a slightly jazzy version of My Funny Valentine. His fingers danced along the keys almost mindlessly, the muscle memory taking over.

\---

Oliver nervously waited outside the Viceroy Room. He’d gotten there early, between giving himself extra time to get there and jogging a little to follow the man who bumped into him. He stood on the sidewalk, out of the way, as people rushed by. Doubt clouded his mind as he waited. _Can I do this? Can I live_ here _, in this crazy, busy world?_

Someone came out and set up an easel listing the night's dinner specials, propping the door open just a crack before they headed back inside. Oliver heard the dulcet tones of live piano music and strained his ear to make out the melody. _My Funny Valentine._

He listened, the sound of the piano bringing up memories of _that_ summer, and Elio at the piano, performing for all of the guests that made their way through the Perlman’s villa. He thought of the path he _should_ have taken... _would_ have taken had he only been strong enough...brave enough. He gave a sad thought to how he had been _sure_ he could be the person his family expected him to be--but standing here now, among the ruins of an inauthentic life, he knew he had lied to himself.

The song's lyrics drifted through Oliver's mind as the music played on, his chest clutching at _you make me smile with my heart,_ and his heart breaking at _stay, little valentine stay..._ because _he_ himself had been the one that left. He had ignored his heart and paid for it every day since. The melancholy regret tugging at him was absolutely his own doing. He wanted to believe that if he had another chance...

He shook his head, trying to focus. Dr. Benson, the department chair, would be here any minute. He couldn’t be wallowing in these feelings...he just couldn’t. It didn’t matter what he thought he might have seen on the sidewalk. _That was fantasy--this is reality._ He saw a distinguished-looking older gentleman approaching and smiled, “Dr. Benson?” Seeing a nod, he reached out his hand, “So nice to match a face to a name.”

“Oliver! Nice to meet you. Please...call me James. Do you have time for supper? Please, don’t feel any pressure, I just want to know whether we should try to grab a booth or a seat at the bar.” They started to walk into the restaurant just as the pianist switched over to Fly Me to the Moon and Oliver continued their conversation, “James, I certainly have time to eat, let’s get a booth.” Once inside, Oliver unintentionally looked around for the piano, but between the size of the room, the height of the booth dividers, and the dimness of the light, it stayed hidden.

\---

Elio had been running on autopilot, really only having to pay attention when transitioning from song to song. Most nights he could get into the zone enough to eavesdrop on the conversations happening around him. He’d heard people say some incredible things--happy things, sad things, mundane things...but the most fun were the utterly scandalous things. It was amazing what people would say under the illusion of privacy. He switched songs yet again, picking Fly Me to the Moon, and trained his ears toward the patrons. And then he heard it, catching just a few words, a deep baritone, “I certainly have time to eat, let’s get a booth.” Elio's heart started pounding.

_Certainly not._

_It can’t be._

_You’re hearing things._

Elio was immediately transported back to _that_ summer, and the swirling confusion that was his Oliver, the fleeting joy, the incredible pain--and the fact that he hadn’t felt that way about anyone since. He tried to push the feelings away like he had so many times before. 

He was deep in thought, but the muscle memory kept the standards flowing. And then, finally, his hands could do no more of their own accord and he failed to transition to another song, simply letting the room go silent.

“Elio!,” Johnny called over from the bar. “What are you doing?”

Johnny’s words cut through the fog, and a surprised Elio started playing again, without thought, the soft strains of Bach’s Capriccio in B Flat Major flowing from his memory to his heart, and then out into the world through his fingers. He blinked hard, trying to will away the memory of that summer day, playing guitar while Oliver laid in the sun, asking, "Play it again, will you?" Then going into the house and messing around at the piano when all Oliver wanted was to hear the song that he had played outside. _If I had been more kind, would he have stayed?_

\---

The meal was delicious, and Oliver was really enjoying talking to James. The two had hit it off, and James made coming on as an adjunct professor for the next semester sound as simple as filling out some paperwork with HR. Oliver was starting to think having to switch jobs might not be as awful as he thought--the university here had resources the one he’d be leaving just did not have, and for the first time in a while, he felt positive. As they were saying their goodbyes, Oliver noticed the pianist was no longer playing. He thought they must be on break, and it was too bad, as he had intended to stop by and put a tip in the pianist’s jar in appreciation. And then…a familiar melody. The one Bach had written for his younger brother. The one that Bach had never written for the guitar in the first place.

_Certainly not._

_But...could it be?_

It made no sense, but Oliver thought back to the man on the sidewalk and _had_ to know. He hurriedly shook James’ hand and excused himself, intent on satisfying his curiosity, but as he was making his way across the room the music stopped once again. He found the piano closed, no trace of the pianist. He rushed over to the busy bar, pushing his way through the people standing there. “The pianist,” he half-shouted at the bartender, strain evident in his voice, “where did they go?”

“Relax man, Elio’ll be back for another set after his break.” 

_Elio. Could it be? It was almost too much to hope for._

_My Oliver_

_Will he remember?_

Oliver stood by the bar, his pounding heart marking the passage of time.

\---

Elio had barely made it through the Bach before almost running to the back room, the emotion too much. _How had this happened? It was supposed to just be a normal Wednesday, and now this?_ He spent a full ten minutes trying to get himself focused--he _had_ to get it together, he had another set to play. With five minutes before he was supposed to start playing again, he walked out of the back room, intending to ask Johnny for a glass of water before going back to the piano. But as he walked toward the bar he saw him...

_Oliver. Could it be? It was almost too much to hope for._

_My Elio_

_Will he remember?_

His heart was pounding as he walked across the room to the bar.

_\---_

Oliver looked up, and blue eyes met green as shock registered on both their faces. They came together in front of the bar, standing but a foot apart, breathing the same air, years of regret and desperate longing swirling heavily between them.

"Elio," the name fell softly from Elio's lips, and with it an unasked question.

Oliver reached out and caressed the side of Elio's face, his thumb dragging over Elio's lips. Elio tipped his head back and his eyelids drooped against the intensity of the moment, but not before hearing it...a whispered answer to his question. "Oliver...I remember everything."

And in that beautiful moment, two hearts sang with joy--reunited by chance.

Johnny's voice cut into the moment, harsh, and loud, "Elio! You're supposed to be playing, not flirting with the customers!"

Elio blinked, present in reality once again. He turned slightly and pointed at the piano, "Uh,...I've got to…"

"Go ahead. I can come back."

Elio could barely breathe. A vision of Oliver getting on the train and pulling out of the station flashed in his mind, and he was transported back to his 17-year old self. This time though, he did what he had _wanted_ to do back then. He reached out and grabbed Oliver by the wrist, and his voice cracked as he pled, "I don't want you to go."

The words triggered a memory in Oliver's mind--a warm attic, a debauched peach...an emotionally distraught Elio. He pulled Elio into his arms and brushed a light kiss against his lips. "I'm not going anywhere this time. We can talk after your set. I'll wait at the bar."

Elio's fingers came up, unbidden, and gently touched his lips, as if to convince himself the kiss had been real. He looked up to see Oliver, smiling widely and nodding, and a smile crept onto his own face in response as he walked back to the piano. As he sat down, he heard it--the deep baritone that he now _knew_ belonged to Oliver, _his_ Oliver.

"Play it again, will you?"


End file.
